In a Field of Yellow Happiness
by In Christ Alone
Summary: The fields surrounding the house were turning a beautiful golden shade, reminiscent of an expensive gown of bronze and aureate, rippling and stretching along the canvas of the land in a sparkling wave. The Irish boy himself was a mere addition to the photographic perfection. But his thoughts weren't on the scenery, and much less his own vanity. Because, who was he, really?


_Happiness held is the seed; happiness shared is the flower._

_~Author Unknown_

**~0~**

A look upon the scene of Fowl Manor revealed the business of end-of-summer harvesting; plots of gardens dotted the emerald landscape like a mosaic, and people scurried amongst the boxes of color like ants. They talked excitedly about cooling weather and other mundane subjects, creating a slight humming buzz that stretched its way up to the wide expanse of gray-clouded sky. The stately manor sat perched atop the large hill, the floor-to-ceiling windows were open to the sweet breeze, and servants sped in and out of the arching doors.

The fields surrounding the house were turning a beautiful golden shade, reminiscent of an expensive gown of bronze and aureate, rippling and stretching along the canvas of the land in a sparkling wave. Trees that had not turned to vibrant shades of red, orange, yellow, or coral were still a verdant green that dotted the crease of the woods in soothing lines. All of these contrasted greatly, and wonderfully, with the sky beckoning storms.

What little of one's view was not enraptured by the vivid sight would hardly notice the little path that led through the creek, on a line of rocks, and into a distant field beyond. And, most of the time, people preferred it this way.

People, meaning Artemis and his own thoughts.

He walked softly amongst the exuberantly yellow flowers and earth, his steps muffled and damp in the Irish sod. The plants grew to shoulder height around him, yellow blossoms bursting into colorful life amongst the deep green leaves. The faces of the flowers turned to all different directions. This made the effect of a yellow sea, the color pulling happiness and mirth to the surface of any soul. Or, to some, a feeling a thoughtfulness.

A whistling wind drove through the needle-like leaves, creating somewhat of a soothing whooshing sound. All around, sans this peaceful sound, was calm and still, reveling in the moment of quiet.

The Irish boy himself was a mere addition to the photographic perfection; his pale skin was lit in a soft glow from the gray light, the raven hair turning and spinning around slowly in the wind. The white shirt, whose sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, accentuated his slim frame that met the ground in black dress pants and surprisingly bare feet. However, the most arresting of his features were his eyes.

Icy blue contrasted the deep ocean that resided in their depths, and off-set by the ring of gold in them. They seemed to glow passionately in the gray around him and battle even the yellow in their strength.

But his thoughts weren't on the scenery, and much less his own vanity. His were on the not-uncommon path it generally took now: memories. Life. Friends. Family.

Because, who really _was_ Artemis James Fowl II?

It had been seven months. Seven months since he had awoken. Since he had learned about Artemis… himself. But who was he?

He slid a foot forward, dragging it through the damp ground. Mud piled up in front of his toes, contrasting the pale white to the deep brown. Roots of eager plants stretching out into the deer path were revealed, cool underfoot.

People were defined by their memories _of_ life, friends and family.

So, start with the family.

Mother. Apparently… _Mum_.

She was kind, slow to anger, and patient with him and his brothers. Little of his memories involved his younger years, though only one seemed to be prominent at the moment, brought on by the field of flowers ahead of him. He could see her: in the obscenely bright light memories cast, kneeling over the field in a pale blue sundress and poking tiny seeds into the ground with her fingertips.

_"See, Arty dear,"_ she had said, pulling him close to her side, directing his young, curious gaze to the ground ahead. _"These are wild flower seeds. And do you remember what I told you about flowers?"_

He nodded furiously, his eager, childlike gaze watching her as she smiled sweetly and repeated the words, like a mantra with him.

_"Happiness held is the seed; happiness shared is the flower."_

Then she would smile, kiss him on the head, and they would continue their gardening.

That was as much as he could remember.

Tough, he did assume he had caused a monstrous amount pain and worry to her: she was obscenely wary of letting him do _anything_ without Butler.

_Another Step. _

Butler.

Butler was loyal, kind, and also just as worried. He seemed, at times, apt to act the father, with the way he fussed over him. If asked, his expression would go stony and he would mutter about 'tough love'. Then mother would recommend Holly if he wanted to be shown _real_ tough love.

Another step, this time into his toe tearing into a delicate leaf, the smell of vegetation growing stronger around him.

Holly.

She was also kind. She was passionate about anything and everything she did. She was strong, capable, and apparently his best friend.

Though… he sensed something more had happened between them, but when he had awkwardly asked if she was his girlfriend, Foaly had laughed at them.

What was it about her that…confused him? He was not accustomed to being confused. It was unsettling.

What was it?

He shook his head slightly, eyes furrowing in concentration as he slid a hand through the leaves. It was an odd thing; this life of his. Resurrected from the grave, and given this fresh new chance at life. A tangible joy sunk into him at this anomaly. This... Tangible redemption.

The leaf he held in his hand was feathered around the edges, with prominent veins running through it.

Was this also not unlike life?

It would seem frayed around the edges, slightly torn and yet soft all the same. Weathered, yet strong.

Paths would turn in all sorts of ways around in one shape, making the wanted image of life, yet never seeming to connect until one could look back at the end of their life and realize what it had become.

Artemis stared at this leaf for some time, fingering it gently and turning it over and around. His thoughts strayed in and out, around and about...

Always searching for that one thing.

And, as footsteps sounded behind him, he spun around with a faint smile on his lips.

Holly stood, towered by the plats, her vibrant red hair billowing in the breeze that touched upon her. Her cheeks and nose were pink from perhaps flying, and her eyes were bright and twinkling.

She smiled, then, a large, exuberant smile that echoed every one of his thoughts concerning her.

Life was comparable to the leaves. Holly, it seemed could only, and ever would be his flower. Terribly beautiful and forever the most arresting, redeeming feature about him.

And then, he was reminded.

Happiness shared is the flower.

His smile joined hers, and together they embodied that life.

That field.

That flower.

* * *

_"He is happiest who hath power to gather wisdom from a flower."_

_ Mary Howitt _

* * *

**Eh... that was a little more abstract than I normally do. But, cest la vie. **

**By the by, the picture for this story, I do not own, nut it inspired the _whole_ story. Is it not _beautiful_? Hopefully it is not cut off. I haven't checked. D:  
**

**Anyway... review? :)  
**

**Oh, and another saying I was going to put but did not, (but still really like):  
**

"To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palms of your hand and eternity in an hour."

~Auguries of Innocence, by William Blake quotes

**Cool, huh? :) Have a good day, and thanks for reading!  
**


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